"Sherlock..."

"No darling, It's Mary"

She wiped away a tear, holding his hand. He was awake, he was going to be ok, because he was awake, because he'd come back to her. John's eyes flitted about the room as if searching for his lost friend. Oh John, you only dreamed about him. Mary knew that John's heart had a hole and that she could never fill it. Only one person could do that.

Mary knew that no matter how much she loved John and how much he loved her, that hole would always be there. For John had lost his soul mate. And right now his soul was crying out for the sibling that could no longer answer.

But despite all this, she would stand by him because she loved him. So it was all she could do not to cry with him as he muttered over and over that it wasn't a dream, it had been real. She wished to the high heavens that it had been true, it didn't doubt for one second that Sherlock had played a hand in bringing back John Watson to reality.

"There, I just received a phone call, he's awake. Now, you need to go back Sherlock. Irene is still waiting in Germany." Sherlock shook his head just to be disagreeable, staring out the window. "I will, I've already arranged transportation." Mycroft sighed in relief. "Good, I promise to update you on John's condition as often as possible."

Sherlock turned, his coat sweeping backwards. "You better, dear brother. And from now on, take better care of him than you would me. He's what matters in all this." And with that Sherlock turned and left the room, his mind filled with plans and ideas for his next move.

"Sir?" Sherlock turned around to see the elderly butler mumble forward, his hands holding a gilded tray holding a letter. "I have to see to something, might I trouble you to hand this to your brother"

Sherlock gave him a fake smile. "Of course Charles, I'll do just that" The butler nodded and turned away. Sherlock turned it over in his hands. Bohemian. How interesting. He looked both ways and quickly opened the envelope. Inside of course wa a letter, written in red with a fountain pen.

Dearest Mycroft,

I know your charge is no longer your brother, who unfortunately lies six feet beneath the earth, in fact your new charge is Doctor Watson. Poor injured Doctor Watson. You know, my dear, that you ought to take better care of the dear man. Things haven't been easy for him, what with watching his best friend die, mourning him and then being hit by a car.

Which wasn't supposed to happen, but we couldn't have him follow us now could we? Don't worry, my associate has been strongly reprimanded. No beer and smokes for a week! He's already suffering. Serves him right.

Listen Mycroft, I know your men have been infiltrating and taking down my empire, if it doesn't stop the dear Johnny Boy will suffer harsher consequences as will his darling companion. This is a friendly warning, aren't a good boy? So do take heed, I'd hate for little John to follow darling Lockie to the grave. Wouldn't you?

So wonderful to speak to you again.

M

Sherlock's fist closed around the letter, his eyes narrowed becoming almost animalistic. Biting his lip he stormed out of the building. But then stopped. Oh, oh of course. Oh that's brilliant. Sorry Mycroft, change of plans.

"No he was here, I heard him Mary, it was real"

Mary held his hand tightly, using her purple handkerchief to wipe his face. "Honey, I've been here the whole time, It was just a dream. I'm so sorry." John shook his sore head. No it had to be real. If it wasn't that meant that last fleeting hope was gone. His dreams had been so real, so real John had not wished to return to the land of the living. But Sherlock had made him, that's why John had held a tiny thread of hope that he still lived. That it really had been his voice.

But Mary was adamant that it had been a dream and she wouldn't lie, not about something like this. No, John's injury must have screwed up his head. Sherlock was dead. He told himself repeatedly. It was just a dream, and then a nightmare. Even in his dreams Sherlock was looking after him, deducing what was real and what wasn't. Thanks mate, thank you for giving me this second chance.

"Another sir?"

"Please"

The air hostess nodded, pouring the man another glass of the rare red liquid. She smiled as his mouth widened, he was good looking, but it was like looking into the face of a tiger. He winked at her and took the glass from her hands. "First day?" She gave him a nervous smile and nodded.

"Don't sweat it, we don't bite, do we Seb?"

The man opposite rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning..oh god was that a gun? "Don't mind Seb, he's in a bad mood, he's been very naughty." The white suited man gave a mock look of shock. The hostess gave another wavering smile, curtsied and quickly left.

"What was her problem? I was only trying to be nice" Pouted the man, sipping his wine. "You scared her, clearly. You trying to be nice is like dog trying to be a cat.". Jim shook his head.

"I'm adorable, I wouldn't scare anyone. Do you think I'm scary Sebby?". The taller man looked up from cleaning his gun. "Terrifying". Jim pouted once more, his eyes growing wide and threatening to tear up.

"That doesn't work on me"

"You're just sulking because I forbade you your smokes and booze Sebby dear."

"Sebastian, not Sebby, defintly not dear"

"My my my we are in a bad mood aren't we?"

"How long til we reach Berlin anyway?"

Moriarty shrugged, not his prblem. "Could ask the pilot. Does it matter? Why don;t we just have a nice little chat? Like.. ordinary people" Sebastian laughed. "You hate ordinary people. Why you put up with me, I don't know." He blew on the gun, watching it shine. "You're not ordinary Sebby, you're special."

"Oh I'm so flattered. Do you mind, taking your hand off my knee please?" Jim grinned and gripped it tightly. Sebastian pointed the gun at his head, both knowing he would never pull the trigger. Jim pretended to put his hands up. "Don't hurt me Mr Bad Man, I'm innocent!"

"Right, innocent and pigs might fly"

"Well, I suppose I could arrange for that to happen"

"Jim Moriarty, consulting pig flyer?"

"Why do you have to tease me so?"

"Because it's so easy, because you let me get away with it. Because, Jimbo, you like it"

"I wish you didn't know me so well"

"Believe me, I wish I didn't either."

Sebastian put his gun away in it's case and leaned back with his own glass, of juice, Jim had actually forbidden beer or smokes for a week. It wasn't like he meant to actually seriously injure the Watson bloke. Just maim a little.

"Sebby?"

"Sebastian" Replied the assassin.

"Jim" Gleefully responded the psychopath.

"What do you want?"

"What did you want to be when you were little?"

Jim payed the pilot no attention as he left the cockpit for the bathroom, leaving the co-pilot in charge for a moment. Sebstian shrugged. "I think I wanted to be in the army, which I was. But.. at one point I wanted to be a fireman." Jim grinned. "Really? Fireman Seb. We should get you a fire helmet! Maybe steal a fire truck for your birthday! I can blow up a building for you to put out, wouldn't that be fun?"

"Oh that would be a riot. What about you? What did you want to be when you were little?"

"Powerful"

"Achieved that didn't you?"

"Oh in spades, my dear Sebastian"

The pilot fixed up his trousers, walking past them, one eyebrow quirked up in amusement. Jim barely noticed. "Don't mind us, just musing on our childhoods. Having ordinary conversations." The pilot nodded and then paused. "I heard, much better than what I wanted to be as a child". Jim turned, unable to see the pilots face fully beneath his hat.

"Oh, what did you want to be when you were little?"

"Me? I wanted to be an aeroplane"